


The Aurelian (Lorgar Heresy 30k)

by Velliacrum



Series: The Lorgar Heresy (Alternate Heresy) [2]
Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Horus Heresy Civil War (Warhammer 40.000), Mysticism, Old Gods, Villain Protagonist, strange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velliacrum/pseuds/Velliacrum
Summary: Lorgar's Great Treachery has ended in victory, but it is already comming undone. Lorgar must consider new alliances.
Series: The Lorgar Heresy (Alternate Heresy) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846669
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

“I Curse your name, Alpharius,

thricefold I curse you Alpharius.

Alpharius I curse you.

Alpharius, under the slavery of the four I cuse you.

Under my spite I bound you.”

Lorgar muttered in a rhythmic cadence, his tone rising with venom as he uttered the name, then slowly descending into a soft murmur as he uttered his curse. Lorgar continued his vitriolic chant in a cathartic meditation. Many cultists and worshippers would have some sort of meditation to enter a vision. To fade from reality, and allow the spirit to traverse into the realm of the gods. Many would use long elaborate cantilations, lengthy litanies to a particular god that would be memorized and recited within a proper ceremonious setting.

  
There were no elaborate ceremonies here however, nor were there any of the sacred symbols, chants, music, or bodily contortions one might expect of a great mystic. The Sanctorum in which lorgar resided was little more than a bare cargo hold within a forgotten corridor of his ship. The only truly important object in the room, besides the supreme sorcerer of course, was a “Dampener.” When any human ship, travelled through the warp, even those aligned with the powers of the warp, are held together by A Geller Field. This projection of pure logic and reason was what prevented the ship from being ripped apart from the extradimensional horrors and passions that inhabit this so-called sea of souls. Many of these neverborn creatures, and souls of weak willed beings have little control over their behavior other than hostility to the material world. This Dampener, when used judiciously by one as knowledgeable as he, allowed him to create a soft spot in the gellar field. Soft enough to allow his soul to focus and travel outside of itself, while strong enough to prevent most weak spirits from attacking his body. Apart from this, the room was completely bare - save for a few things: a simple but comfortable high back chair, a table that held a comm in case issues arose outside of the chamber, and a bolt pistol in case something arose inside the chamber. The room was otherwise bare with the skeleton of the ship clearly visible.

  
He was no hedge mage, novice sorcerer, or petty cult leader. He was Lorgar, Bearer of The Word, The Aurelian, The Urizen, Commander-king of The Black Legion, and Champion of The Four ruinous powers. It was Lorgar who masterminded the revolt against The Emperor who betrayed him, and brought the illumination of Chaos Undivided to mankind. He had heard many of these chants, in fact it's likely he wrote several dozen of them. But just as Lorgar went beyond the instrumentation of the four, to find the inner music of The Will of Chaos, he knew the inner harmonies of a vision quest and a chant. He knew that any chant could do, provided the emotions are channeled in a single focus: to pierce the veil between reality and unreality, the line where logic and spirit meet and the materia meets the immateria. The liturgist did not need the crutch of liturgy. Lorgar had made this perilous and unfathomable journey as often as some Rogue Trader’s assistant might need to travel off-planet. Countless times has Lorgar walked the The Decrepit beauty of The Gardens of Nurgle, has stood before the Skull Throne of Khorne, has visited the pleasure halls of Slaanesh, and traversed The Bewildering The Crystal Mazes of Tzeentch; and he has gained the favor and trust of all. Or at least so he thought.

  
And it is for this he is chanting the name of the one who ruined it all. Alpharius, scheming brother, Arch-servant of Tzeentch, and undoer of all Lorgar’s work. If the rage and contempt he felt for his once most trusted brother, could not be turned at him, then it could at least serve Lorgar in his travels. With every chant of curse of Alpharius, Lorgar ascended on a torrent of spite, his hate clouding his vision and sense of reality, that reality itself began to fade, and upon a cloud of wroth his spirit soared to his destination among the places that did not exist. It was but a few more moments and his mind’s eye opened to a new realm deep within the eye of terror. He arose from his seated position, and as a path materialized in front of the darkened Black Sphere, Lorgar walked toward it.


	2. WiP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, i want to say this is a work in progress, so i would love some advice and tips!
> 
> Lorgar reflects on the heresy, as he looks upon the world of the newest chaos god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as a warning this is very much a work in progress. Any tips or advice is appreciated.

The path ahead of the blackened sphere opened for Lorgar, and aperture flooded the path awash with golden aura. As Lorgar moved closer to the opening the blackened sphere gained distinction. The details were formed and the path created revealed itself to be a labyrinth of crenelations and turrets. All these buildings folded and merged with each other to form an elaborate weave of security. 

Lorgar had no doubts that his teleportation would succeed. A lesser mind would have dismissed the blackened sphere. Because they would not have understood the ways of Yu’gnomiya. This was a new force in the warp, a chaos god, as the cultists would call him. Now Yugnomia was always present in the warp, but beneath the paradox of the sea of souls lied a recognizable face. Lorgar’s greatest rival in life, resurrected in new form: Roboute Gulliman. 

Very few would have expected Lorgar to visit the realm of his ascended brother, a brother who, in life Lorgar hated more than any other. Roboute Gulliman, The Emperor’s XIIIth son, was favored well above Lorgar, for doing much of the same thing as he. Both sons placed a great emphasis on what happened after the war, a vision for their astartes as peacetime administrators and leaders rather than generals, and yet his father not only snubbed him over Gulliman. Why is only known to the Emperor himself, but Lorgar surmised it was because Lorgar looked to build the soul of mankind rather than crushing it under a mountain of marble and gold. Meanwhile his brother, Gulliman, shared his father’s love of monumentalizing and grandeur. Lorgar once had only wished his father’s good favor, but the Emperor used his rival to spite him. The Emperor could have punished Lorgar himself, or sent any number of his 17 brothers to confront Lorgar.

In a sense, Lorgar owed his Brother Roboute some gratitude. If it was not for the razing of monarchia by Gulliman, Lorgar would not have set himself up on the path towards conquest and victory. Before Monarchia, The Emperor brought The Word Bearers to their knees, but after Monarchia, it was Lorgar that brought the Imperium to its knees. Monarchia clarified the Primarch’s vision, and showed to him what the Imperium truly was. A rotting wobbling structure, held together only by its demagogue. It was Lorgar’s gift for recognizing the hearts of individuals, that allowed him to scrape the gilding off the Imperium, and knock the rotting structure apart. Did he convince many of his brothers? No. But he didn’t have to. Because only Lorgar realized how poorly his brothers had convinced not only The Imperium, but their own sons. Lorgar found the areas of discontent, and brought four of The Emperor’s sons, Over half of his Space Marines, and countless Naval officers, administratum leaders, forge worlds, and entire Militarum Regiments. The fires of The Urizen’s Truth blazed through the galaxy, and the Imperium was left a schizophrenic and hapless disaster burning allies and enemies alike in its bumbling wake, like a blinded giant. And it was for this Gulliman should thank Lorgar. For it was one of these Green on Blue attacks that saw Konrad Curze aid Angron in destroying Ultramar, and killing Roboute Gulliman. Now rather than picking up the broken pieces of his father’s dream, like the rest of their disillusioned and weakened brothers, he had somehow ascended to his own divinity in the warp. Gulliman was a new being in this world, and Lorgar admired his ambition. Gulliman had visions for the Warp, which is more than Lorgar could say for his other allies. 

“Sufficing'' Lorgar mused to himself as he walked towards the basalt sphere, ignoring the howling souls that both accompanied him on this trail and wailed all around him, “that is the word to best describe all of the major players in the warp.” Lorgar once thought his brothers and comrades would see their great victories at his hands as proof of his vision, but instead of disciples, Lorgar had made slackers. Each of his supportive brothers: Angron, Mortarion, Alpharius, and Perturabo had to be yanked out of their navel gazing and petty projects for the greater will of Chaos undivided.   
Mortarion, of course, he understood. Mortarion, the brooding embittered leader of The Death Guard, had little interest in any sort of Grand Project. Lorgar was not naive enough to think that Mortarion’s dispassion for The Emperor’s Great Crusade would somehow translate to zeal for Lorgar’s insurrection. When Typhon abandoned them both for Luther, Mortarion decided to focus on his own quest of vengeance. This was his doing of course, by telling Mortairon where his father’s soul was, he expected him to travel deep into the eye of terror, giving his soul to his wrath and allowing his bloodlust and homicidal urges to transform him to a servant of Khorne. What he didn’t expect was that, now a willing servant of Khorne, he would just keep going. Lorgar knew his taciturn brother had a long list of grudges, but he didn’t expect the list to be immutable. Lorgar had hoped Mortarion would be made to see his father’s lost soul wasn’t going anywhere, and that he could help him in the fight against the Imperium first, but no. His hatred for this creature of Barbarus, the tyrant he slew, apparently surpassed his hatred for The Emperor, for his brother Fulgrim, and even for the treasonous sons who turned against him. Lorgar had no idea what this man had done to Mortarion, but if the torturing of his already deceased soul takes precedence over Typhus and Garro who betrayed him, it must be severe indeed.   
He could not necessarily fault Perturabo either. In a sense, Lorgar wondered if he had done too good of a job. He had no idea how well either lord had come to embrace the servitude of their new masters. In Slaanesh, Perturabo had found a more expectant and demanding taskmaster than his own exacting ego. Perturabo’s Patronizing Prince of Pleasure had no end of great commissions for the Lord of The Iron Warriors, remaking systems, cultures and peoples into a monument to the prince of pleasure. What’s more Perturabo, never close to his biological, nor adoptive family, was allowed to remake at least one. With his father, sister, brother, and nephew, completely remade to Perturabo’s “Muses,” serving as inspiration and taskmasters to Perturabo’s many concoctions. It seems like almost every week, Perturabo’s Magnum Opus, on Cadia becomes more labyrinthine, more complex, and more bloated. The world of fortresses and monuments sieged and rebuilt by its exacting lord on the regular. Lorgar did not begrudge Perturabo’s obsessions, but the lack of aid for any project that Perturabo couldn’t micromanage himself was beginning to come at the expense of the great project.

Only Angron, it seemed, had a loyalty that could be counted on. It would be easy to think that this was some sense of obligation or gratitude on the part of Angron. After all, Lorgar did more than just save Angron’s life, he gave it a new purpose by arranging Lotarra Sarin and Angron’s meeting with Nurgle. But it was more than that. Lorgar and Angron were not merely an acknowledgement of a life debt, It was a shared bond of comradeship against insurmountable odds. Fried from the butcher’s nail Angron revealed himself to be a dutiful warrior and ardent believer in the bond forged in battle. Unfortunately, Angron also had perhaps the weakest force of all the traitor legions. As warriors, Angron, The World Eaters, and Gladiators were second to none, but from a strategic level Angron and his Bride were little more than a raiding party.

What was even more curious was that the gods themselves seemed content to revel in their spoils, then continue to contribute to the greater whole. Alpharius had upended the whole project, and Chaos Undivided with it. But perhaps with the help of This new god, the one that calls itself, The Aurelian, a new Chaos Undivided could be established. 

As Lorgar arrived into the palace of The Aurelian, he had expected to see some sort of caricature of Ultramar. A bombastic and surrealist version of the former Ultramarine's homeworld. There were perhaps some elements there to be sure, but the appearance of The new gods realm was very different than a mere more grandiose version of Maccragge. The planes of The deity's realm were all within sight of each other, orbiting the bright sunlight of the palace. On each of those plains were patches of farmland and millions of tiny estates. Winged beings in togas and armor flew from plane to plane. on the road to the palace was a grand barracks of impossible architecture. Here were endless camps of men and women in gleaming blue breastplates, and ornamented rustic helms. on the other side were men and women in simple golden cloaks harvesting wheat and plowing fields, "for what?" lorgar thought to himself. Lorgar tried for a moment to figure out what the wheat shearing could represent in a spiritual or metaphorical context. It could be that the wheat did not actually exist and it was merely aesthetic, but aesthetically useless was never his brother's style. In life, Roboute Gulliman despised both the function without beauty and the beauty without function, it's unlikely his opinion would change in death.  
Far off in the horizon, Lorgar could see that the horizon of these plains caved back around the palace, each plane of field and manor turned to exploit the most of the palace’s golden light. There was no blue of earth, the sky was Bronze with the deep harvest of autumn trees and ripened fields. Underneath these idyllic plates, the Heresiarch surmised, must be the mounds of walls and fortifications Lorgar had seen when he entered the Stone Domed building. Or at least what appeared to be crenellations and turrets, the Immaterial plane was not a place where Crossbows were not made of wood, and the steel of the sword and scythe was a weaponized metaphor. Expressions of a man of meticulous planning, and natural administrator. Lorgar had travelled to each of the palaces of the Chaos gods: he had walked through the putrid yet majestic gardens of Nurgle, he had visited the nauseatingly extravagant palaces of Slaanesh, and witnessed the Crystal Spires of Tzeentch, and these endless palaces and idyllic agrarian settings were no different. They were all expressions of the aspect that the divine embodied. In this case, his brother’s death had given birth to a nascent “God of Duty.” A Lord of Sacrifice and Submission to a greater cause. This whole space was a manifestation of his personality, and bore elements of Roboute’s peculiar love of Human antiquity, administration, and multipurpose construction. “I almost expected the building to be made of gold and paper” he thought mockingly to himself, while also thankful that the realm was mercifully short of graven images of Roboute Gulliman’s face.


End file.
